John 'Soap' MacTavish
by Dunedain789
Summary: How did John end up with the nickname Soap? Quick one-shot written for fun. First time writing 3rd person and humor story, so please be nice. Warning: There is some nudity but nothing too explicit *winks* ENJOY!


**Alrighty! I actually wrote this story a while ago but haven't posted it due to laziness and a silly computer. I actually got the idea after reading duvalia's 'Soap by Any Other Name'. Warning! There is a bit of nudity, but nothing too explicit. I hope you enjoy! It was written for fun!**

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John 'Soap' MacTavish  
Task Force 141  
__Bering Sea  
Day 5 _

John MacTavish sighed, exhausted from the long day. They had infiltrated an enemy occupied oil rig and a Gulag today in an attempt to rescue prisoner 627. As it had turned out, Prisoner 627 was actually Captain Price, John's former commander. It had come as a shock to him as he had firmly believed Price had died on the bridge 5 years ago along with his friends, Gaz and Griggs.

The helicopter roared through the sky, the ice-cold sea below streaming past its open doors. Shivering as a cold breeze washed over him, he glanced over at Roach. The young sergeant had fallen asleep shortly after being pulled into the helicopter. John smiled to himself as Roach snored slightly, his head hanging loosely from his shoulders. He liked Roach and treated him as a little brother, a treatment Roach happily accepted as he had lost his older brother years ago.

MacTavish's eyes drifted over to his lieutenant who was staring blankly out of the open door of the Pave low, his loose brown hair ruffling lightly in the wind, stirred up by the helicopter blades. His trade mark Balaclava mask was crumpled up in his fist and his orange sunglasses were tucked away in the many pockets of his vest.

Bored, he aimed a kick at the lieutenant's boot, causing Ghost to jump out of his trance like state. He turned to glare at MacTavish, annoyed that the Captain had succeeded in startling him. John grinned mischievously as he motioned his head for Ghost to look at Roach. Ghost took one look at the sergeant before a huge smile spread across his face. He reached for a bottle of water beside him and proceeded to upend the bottle over Roach's head.

"ARRRGH!" screamed Roach as he was woken up by cold water being dumped on his head. Abruptly the Pave Low erupted in laughter as Roach shook his head trying to shake off the cold liquid like a dog. He glared daggers at Ghost, who still had the bottle of water suspended above his head, blue eyes sparkling with laughter.

Grumbling, Roach attempted to dry himself off with his jacket sleeves, which only resulted in more howls of mirth from the Task Force. Ghost was doubled over with laughter at his friend's predicament his eyes now streaming with tears.

When the laughter finally died down, John turned to Price who was sitting next to him. They had talked briefly during the first few minutes of the flight, but for the most part they sat in silence. Price, who had been staring fixedly at Roach, flicked his attention to John.

"He reminds me of you when you first joined Soap"

MacTavish simply smiled at this. His first day at the SAS had not exactly been laced with welcome by Captain Price, who roughly exclaimed "How'd a muppet like you pass selection?"

Ghost abruptly spoke up.

"Sir, how'd you get nickname Soap?"

The question was reasonable. Ghost had received his nickname for being particularly good on stealth missions, Roach had receive his from surviving numerous near death experiences, Worm was named after a very eventful fishing trip and Archer for being exceptionally talented with a sniper rifle.

Soap blushed. Not even Price knew how he'd obtained the nickname, as he had received in back in the days where he was in training in the Navy. Price and the rest of the Task Force stared intently at John, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

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Flashback

MacTavish was making his way to the showers after a long day in training. He swore that the drill instructor hated him. He had made him do a hundred press ups and 300 sit ups as well as a 5km run on top of all the training they normally did. John didn't even know why he had to do all the extra exercise. He hadn't done anything wrong! Annoyed, he strode into the shower blocks. He had a towel wrapped around his waist and carried a bar of soap in his hand. The entire room was filled with choking, warm, white steam. His feet made a slight tap on the water-covered floor as he padded over to his usual shower, which was at the end of the 2nd row. Upon entering the stall, he firmly locked the wooden door and threw his towel over it.

He turned on the shower, and jumped through the thin curtain, into a warm stream of fresh water. Sighing contentedly, he let the water wash through his hair and down his back, relaxing his sore muscles. Frothing up the soap in his hands, he rubbed his body down, cleaning off sweat and dirt which stuck to his arms and legs. Relaxed, he let head fall back, the water running down his face and neck, tracing his adam's apple, completely forgetting the awful day he had had.

A sudden fit of giggles outside the shower caught his attention. One of the other soldiers must have brought a girl into the shower blocks. Wouldn't be the first time. MacTavish rolled his eyes, and reluctantly turned the shower off. Immediately cold air swept under the shower curtain, causing MacTavish to shiver. Reaching out from behind the curtain, he made to grasp the towel that was hanging on the door. His fist curled around thin air. Confused, he opened the shower curtain up completely to find out where his towel had gotten to. It was nowhere in sight. MacTavish flushed, furious. He knew the men here liked to play pranks on the unsuspecting FNGs. He had had his bed upended once. But he had never had his towel stolen before.

And so it was that Pvt. John MacTavish stood there, cold and naked in his shower cubicle, trying to decide what to do. It wasn't as if he had anything to be ashamed of. Most guys would be pretty jealous. He was covered in muscle, tanned and sculpted from hours and hours of training. And as for the rest of it… Well let's just say he was fully equipped. He was just shy and incredibly self conscious of his body.

He sighed in resignation and prepared to run. There was nothing else he could do. He'd have to run from the shower block to his room as quickly as possible. He scooped his bar of soap up and unbolted the door, jumping out. Upon exiting the shower he was greeted by 3 uniformed soldiers, grinning from ear to ear, holding a camera. MacTavish yelped in surprise and covered himself with the only thing he had in his hands. The wet bar of soap. The camera clicked and the soldiers howled with laughter while MacTavish just stood there blushing like an idiot.

"You need more than a bar of soap to cover that dude!" cackled one of the soldiers who abruptly threw a towel at MacTavish. He caught it in mid air and quickly wrapped it around his waist, glaring at the three who were now doubled over, choking on laughter. Standing with as much dignity as he could muster, MacTavish marched out of the bathroom, his face glowing red with embarrassment.

Several hours later, MacTavish went to dinner in the mess hall. He collected his food from the counter and walked to an empty table. He sat down and began eating, not looking up as others came to sit beside him.

"Oi! Soap!" said a loud voice next to him. MacTavish ignored it. Someone has the nickname Soap? How unfortunate he thought, as he picked at some potatoes on his plate.

"Are you deaf?" asked the voice, as fingers tapped MacTavish on the shoulder. Confused he looked up only to stare into the face of one of the soldiers from the shower. MacTavish blushed causing the man grin at him.

"Welcome to the Navy Soap!"


End file.
